


Too Many Stars

by helena3190



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, rivamika, rivamika drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27341470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena3190/pseuds/helena3190
Summary: You.Her lavender-dusted eyes must be illuminated, too. She looks to him unabashedly, aware that in the same manner she’s become gifted at hearing him, he must be skilled in seeing her.Despite it all, I don’t want to forget you.
Relationships: Mikasa Ackerman/Levi
Comments: 16
Kudos: 68





	Too Many Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Heeeeeeeeey everyone. If you're new to my rivamika, hi and wecome! If you're not, gods I'm so sorry for the delay on my WIP. :( I can no longer say life is throwing curveballs, it is in fact hurling fastballs at me. Had a few huge life transitions and one good ol' fashioned crisis last week, I'm trying to catch my breath. Wrote this after a difficult day. Promise I have Beyond the Walls almost entirely finished and will be updating soon. xo
> 
> This is just a drabble. Canon-verse. No spoilers. Aged-up Mikasa.

**There are too many stars.**

_by Helena_

* * *

Roaring laughter, drunken shouts; their individual voices are indistinguishable. She used to stay closer, linger for longer, as if the shared excitement and raucous energy were contagions that might infect her, too. It never did—never does. Now, she sits on a felled tree, the trunk wide enough to be reasonably comfortable, and their mirth is simply background noise that floats by her. 

The destruction from earlier has at least one advantage—an unhindered view. Fleeing Titans decimated this portion of the forest, leaving behind smashed trees and trampled bushes in their dead-or-dying wake. Lingering with the scent of pine and damp soil is also the distinct metallic aroma of blood. At least the cool breeze carries it in the opposite direction. 

Mikasa looks ahead, watching the glint of moonlight on jagged stone, debating whether or not it’d be worthwhile to leave her stump and find a spot on the cliff’s edge. Sore limbs and a few fractured ribs keep her rooted in place. 

Her celebrating comrades must start to sing; the cacophony of noise merges into a more singular sound. She reconsiders the hard stone ahead to further escape their merry-making, but first tries looking upward for a distraction. 

Hundreds – thousands? – of silvery pinpricks of light decorate the large expanse of a black night. Without a single cloud to block them, the stars appear omnipresent. Her neck craned, Mikasa starts to count them.

 _One, two, three, four, five, six—_ better to count than wonder what song they’re singing, of who else would be singing if they were still alive, too _— seven, eight, nine._

There are too many stars. That’s the last errant thought Mikasa entertains before an interruption comes in the form of snapping twigs and approaching footfall. She doesn’t turn, but she doesn’t need to: the careful, methodical steps are not the sound of someone who can’t help but be heard, but one who could be quiet yet chooses to make their presence known. Levi.

She relaxes her posture, chin dipping downward to stare directly ahead. There’s something too whimsical, vulnerable even, about being caught admiring the stars. He stops several feet behind her.

“Need something?” Not as light and airy as she intended. _Oh well_.

Levi takes the next few steps closer. Looming over her, he blocks the gleaming light and casts a dark shadow over her outstretched legs. She watches the shape of it, expecting his sarcasm in response, or maybe some taciturn remark on bullshit chores that need to be done. 

“No.” It’s just one syllable, but it’s clipped— almost disciplinary. 

This causes her to look over. He’s still in uniform, starch white linen shirt only half-tucked, wrinkled and splattered with blood. Suspenders loosened, sleeves rolled to his elbows. She starts to wonder why he spent the time neatly folding his sleeves instead of putting on a clean shirt, but then stops. The leather-wrapped metal flask in his pale, lithe fingers captures her intention instead.

He notices. Levi settles himself into the spot beside her, a mild look of disdain on the circumstances of sharp bark and dirt as her chosen seating option. There’s at least a foot between them, but alone in the dark of the near-empty forest clearing, it feels too close.

Without looking to her, Levi offers the flask.

Mikasa frowns at it.

Her lack of movement and disconcerted response causes him to lift a bored brow, half-turning toward her.

Her nose twitches. “You might have noticed. I’m not in the celebratory mood.”

He grunts—a hoarse, dry sound from the base of his throat. “Then don’t celebrate. Mourn.”

Her eyes widen some, glancing from the lifted flask to his steel-shaded eyes, then back to the liquor again. If there’s still laughter and singing behind them, she can barely hear it. After several seconds that stretch on for far too long, she takes it from him— determinedly, with unnecessary vigor. Mourning does feel more fitting of her current mood.

It’s not until she flicks open the stopper and gets a whiff of strong whiskey that she realizes that mourning might be what he’s being doing, too. After taking a long swig of the burning liquor, choking back a reflexive cough, she turns to him.

“Why are you mourning?” Mikasa asks, her tone deceptively flat. But curiosity shimmers within her calculative stare, unable to be hidden beneath blinking lids or long lashes.

“Why aren’t you celebrating?” He challenges instead, terse and disinterested all at the same time.

This isn’t her first drink of the night. She may not have participated in all of the revelries, but she did drain several glasses of ale before making an unannounced departure. Perhaps it’s the drunkenness that makes her honest. Perhaps it’s something else.

“Sort of a strange concept, to celebrate winning a battle. Win or lose, we’re still at war. There’s nothing about war worth celebrating.” 

Levi says nothing, but she knows he’s paying attention when she goes to return the flask and he is ready for it. When he drinks, he doesn’t cough.

“Not sure there’s much difference between celebrating and mourning,” Levi says eventually.

Recent years in close proximity to him, whether sparring or strategizing, has honed her auditory senses. There’s the blithe remarks of an unforgiveable instructor, rigid-but-willing-to-bend tilt in his tone if he’s thoughtful, and quiet, lethal words when he’s angered. Rarer are the words spoken like this: hard but somber, reserved for when he’s uncertain. She thinks she might be one of the few who’s privileged to hear it.

She glances sideways at him. “What makes you say that?”

He rolls one of his shoulders, a half-hearted shrug, and offers the flask again. “Both are trying to forget.”

Mikasa’s hand stalls in its reach, caught in mid-air for a half a moment before belatedly landing atop the flask. Still paused, her calloused fingers linger over his scarred ones. Now he looks to her openly, willingly. 

The countless stars and nearly full moon cast silver light into his gray orbs, illuminating the look inside of them— surprised, but not disinterested. She relaxes her fingers further, the pads of her rough fingertips stretching over the top of his hand. She watches him carefully as she does it, noting the pinpricks of silver against steel in each iris.

_No,_ she observes. _No, not disinterested._

“Maybe,” she says, stalling to take single ownership of the flask. “But there are some things I don’t want to forget.” 

His grip on the flask tightens, gaze unwavering even when the fringe of ink-black hair shifts to partially block his view. They both know she’s strong enough that she could wrench the flask from him if she wanted to. 

She doesn’t want to. 

“Some things.” Levi says it like it’s meant to be a repetition of her words, her tone; maybe she’s also one of the few who can hear it’s actually a question. 

Mikasa holds onto the flask, holds firmly onto his hand. She swallows, she shrugs, and her words are almost straightforward. “Some things. Some one.”

_You._ Her lavender-dusted eyes must be illuminated, too. She looks to him unabashedly, aware that in the same manner she’s become gifted at hearing him, he must be skilled in seeing her. _Despite it all, I don’t want to forget you._

It’s hard to tell which one of them it is who guides their arms downward, their nearly clasped hands resting on the tree trunk in the space between them. Another unnaturally long moment stretches onward. Like she counted the stars, Mikasa counts the rapid beats of her heart. _One, two, three, four._

Levi turns outward, but she watches his chapped lips curve into a distinct smirk.

“ _Tch.”_ The signature sound, but lighter— amused? Content?

Mikasa prepares for disappointment when he loosens his grip beneath her, but he doesn’t pull his hand away. Instead, his fingers shift to fit between hers, a more deliberate alignment. The flask remains, now only an excuse for touch. She bites her bottom lip to prevent the emergence of a girlish grin as she turns outward, too. 

His hand is strong, warm. Familiar from so many other moments, but none of them like this. His scarred fingers move against hers, slow and exploratory. For several second she forgets to breathe. 

Then Mikasa returns her vision to the nighttime sky — this time, unashamed to bask in the glow of starlight. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr: https://helena-thessaloniki.tumblr.com/


End file.
